New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
First column in August 2019


Column:

Hidden Pain Disguises Who We Are

Have you ever been in such physical pain that it gave others a bad impression of you? If so, you're definitely not alone in this reaction. I've been there too.

As you might imagine, in my job as a hospice chaplain I work hard to present an openhearted persona. Normally when I enter a home, I offer a hand of greeting along with a sympathetic touch on the shoulder.

However, these days a sprain of my right-hand Baylor ring finger may be causing people to see me in a less friendly light. While I remain my affable self, I'm under doctor's orders to refrain from the grip-and-grins of the church coffee hour or the shake-and-bake of the summer picnic.

Unfortunately, without a splint, I appear pain-free and people reach for a quick handshake. My only choice seems to wince and bear it.

I know my pain is insignificant compared to the chronic issues some live with, but my temporary circumstance amply illustrates how easily people can overlook the hidden pain of others. When you overlook their pain, you tend to dismiss people as simply standoffish or irritable.

Recently, I noticed a retired police officer in my church to whom I was having a hard time relating. For some reason it felt like he was distant or hard to know. This past week I approached him again and vowed to listen more closely for his hidden pain.

The conversation started with mutual talk about our retirements. With complimentary intentions I mentioned that he seemed too young for retirement.

"Medically retired with a bad back," came his brief and deadpan reply.

The English language coins "backpain" as a compound word because it's such a common occurrence. But unless we see a person hunched over we don't know how much pain can bend their personality.

Almost as an afterthought, I asked the officer if he lived with much pain.

"Constantly," he said. "I don't believe in taking pain meds."

At that moment his truer self came into sharper focus. He was someone who'd sacrificed much in his honorable service for his community. His intensity didn't make him insensitive, rather, he was more in tune with life's pain than I'd given him credit. His pain was concealed, but my knowledge of his pain gave me a new depth of understanding.
The encounter has given me reason to work harder when I meet someone who seems detached or unsociable. I need to not judge them but to keep an open mind as to how pain can significantly alter someone's behavior. Given such understanding, I pray it becomes easier to accept our loved ones and ourselves as we are.

Finally, since my doctor told me that a sprained finger can hurt for months, I decided to tell the guys at church why I couldn't shake hands.

"That's OK, said the retired police officer. "I hope it gets better." He reached over to give me an encouraging slap on my left shoulder.

I winced.

"Shoulder pain too?" he asked.

"Doctor thinks it's arthritis." I said. "He's told me to try some ice."

Hopefully no one will think I'm giving them the cold shoulder.


——————————————————————-
Contact Chaplain Norris at comment@thechaplain.net or 10566 Combie Rd.
Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715.


.

 

Attachment:
{Attach File:2}

 

 

New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Column for July 26-28 2019


Column:

Cures Are Possible Even When Healing Isn't

A few years ago, I was working as a per diem chaplain in a local hospital when an emergency room nurse sent me into the lobby to search for the husband of the patient she was treating.

"Our patient is under CPR," she confided. "We don't expect her to make it."

A minute later, I was manning my usual position on a vinyl couch in the ER waiting room when a distraught man walked into our lobby and asked the admitting clerk about our patient.

The clerk nodded toward me, so I stepped up to introduce myself "I'm Norris. Please follow me."

I led him into a private waiting room where I disclosed my full identity as a chaplain. Sometimes this is the point where people scream, but the man laid a soft hand on my arm and asked me to pray.

Despite having heard the nurse predict a poor outcome, I expressed a genuinely fervent prayer. Afterward, I excused myself to go to the trauma room and check on his wife's progress and perhaps the progress of my prayer.

The trauma room is a tight, busy place with little room for spectators, so I felt compelled to glue myself into a corner where I watched the doctor charge the defibrillator and give his orders.

"Charge – clear – shock."

Nothing.

"One ampule epinephrine." The simplicity in his voice was of someone ordering a double espresso.

More compressions and more shock.

Heads turned toward the monitor. Nothing.

"Charge – clear – shock." The doctor said again.

Still nothing.

The staff performed the procedure six times until finally the doctor said, "I'm calling it. Any objections?"

I wanted to object, but I could only hear myself say, "The husband is waiting for you, Doc."

Directly, the doctor joined me in the conference room where he asked the husband to recount how his wife fell ill.

The man put his face in his hands. "I don't really know."

He was right. He knew only that the day started as a "routine day." He'd exchanged routine kisses with his wife and then dropped her at a scheduled doctor's appointment. When her clinician stepped away for a few minutes, he returned to find his patient unresponsive.

"How's my wife, Doctor?" the new widower asked.

The doctor stalled his response by calculating how long our patient had been under CPR.

"All added up – between the clinic staff, the EMTs and our staff – we worked on your wife for nearly an hour," he said.

The husband began anticipating. "She's only 62, Doc. Please, please."

The doctor looked back to the ground. "I'm so sorry," he said. "She's gone."

The incident wasn't much different than the scores I'd seen before, but there was something about this family that had me doubting myself. Had I been hypocritical to pray so hard for an outcome I knew wasn't likely to happen? Had I given the man false hope?

As the husband dropped back into his chair, sobbing, I renewed my prayers — this time for the eventual resurrection of that part of him that had just died. I prayed that God would begin the sort of healing that can't be measured with thermometers, EKGs and blood pressure cuffs — the long, slow healing of a broken heart.

After all, I thought, the true result of prayer can't always be measured in outcome. Maybe prayer gains some power in the input. Perhaps prayer has a power to heal even when it does not cure.

_____________________________
Contact Chaplain Norris at comment@thechaplain.net or 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715.

 

Attachment:
{Attach File:2}

 

 

New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Rewrite -- USE THIS VERSION - Jul 19-21


Column:

Military Marriages Inspired by Plant, Laugh and Love
As a retired Air Force chaplain, I can testify that military marriages are different.

I witnessed those profound differences during my deployment to Beale Air Force Base in 2011. Inside a windowless room, I often stood with airmen as they remotely worked top-secret drone missions over an Afghan battlefield. These airmen observed both insurgents and coalition forces die in real time.

When the airmen finished their 12-hour shift, they'd attempt to reengage normal life with such things as attending their kid's soccer game or mowing their lawns.

Yet, they often found normalcy elusive. There was no way they could tell their spouse what they'd seen or who they'd killed. Beale mental health professionals described this isolating condition of silence as "the silo effect."

Scenarios like this convince me that our veterans need special places to talk to one another about the difficulty of military-spouse relationships. That's why last weekend my wife, Becky, and I drove to Sequoia National Park, four hours north of Los Angeles, to lead a three-day marriage retreat for 10 veterans and their spouses.

The retreat was hosted by Nature Corps, an environmental organization led by Mark Landon of Templeton, Calif., who typically leads volunteers on what he calls "volun-tours" to help reforest national parks.

Landon has launched dozens of reforestation tours for corporations, but this time he assumed a mission to replant military marriages affected by multiple deployments. Thankfully, outside contributions paid for the retreat.

As with other Nature Corp events, Friday evening opened with a dinner and brief introductions. Vets came with a natural aversion for the word "retreat," so I deployed a disarming curriculum called "Laugh Your Way to a Better Marriage." The four 90-minute sessions use military-focused videos from Mark Gungor, part pastor and part stand-up comedian.

Gungor began with a facetious warning that "100 percent of divorces start with a marriage." His remark launched nearly nonstop laughter. Gungor's program humorously pushes the limits in all topics, such as communication and sex. The laughter seemed to relax the couples, refuel them, and rekindle their love.

On Saturday morning, we emerged from tents into cooler temperatures and hiked through the forest to plant wild blue rye grass, goldenrod and coneflower. These native plants provide a natural competition for aggressive weeds.

After the last goldenrod was planted, we prepared one final hole for a sequoia sapling. Before plating the sapling, we gave the vets a slip of paper and asked them to write a growth goal for their marriage. Finally, with sacred intention, we dropped those slips one-by-one into the hole and buried them beneath the sequoia.

A few hours later, we hit the showers, and returned for lunch and the obligatory talk of every marriage retreat -- sex. The veterans advised me that the discussion details were "highly classified," so I'll just say, "mission accomplished."

On Sunday morning, our last video challenged us to bring forgiveness into our marriages.

On Beetle Rock, overlooking the vast foothills of the Sierra Nevada, I led vets in a ritual Gungor calls the "Reset Button Ceremony," which encourages each spouse to seek forgiveness from the other.

The husbands recited lines that began:

I'm sorry for not always being the kind of husband I should be to you.

For not giving you the attention you deserve.

For being too caught up in my own world instead of "our" world.

For demanding too much and not giving enough.

For not loving you like I should.

Please forgive me.

With your love, your support, your patience and your prayers, I will strive to be the kind of husband God expects me to be.

The wives' part differed by three middle lines:

Honey, I'm sorry for not always appreciating all that you do.

For not always being the lover I know you need.

For not always believing in your hopes and dreams.

As I said, military marriages are different sometimes. But during this closing ceremony, I was privileged to witness the human side of those rock-hard vets as they watered the mighty sequoias with their tears.
_____________________________
If you'd like to join a volun-tour, email info@thenaturecorps.org. Contact Chaplain Norris at comment@thechaplain.net or 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715.

 

Attachment:
{Attach File:2}

 

 

New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
July 19-21


Column:

Editors. I will send pictures if you request them by reply email.

Military Marriages Inspired by Plant, Laugh and Love

As a retired Air Force chaplain, I can testify that military marriages are different.
I witnessed those differences most profoundly during my deployment to Beale Air Force Base in 2001. Inside a windowless room, I often stood with airmen as they remotely worked top-secret drone missions over an Afghan battlefield. These airmen observed both insurgents and coalition forces die in real time.

When the airmen finished their 12-hour shift, they'd attempt to reengage normal life with such things as attending their kid's soccer game or mowing their lawns.

Yet, they often found normalcy elusive. There was no way they could tell their spouse what they'd seen or who they'd killed. Beale mental health professionals described this isolating condition of silence as "the silo effect."

Scenarios like this convince me that our veterans need special places to talk to one another about the difficulty of military-spouse relationships. That's why last weekend my wife, Becky, and I drove to Sequoia National Park, four hours north of Los Angeles, to lead a three-day marriage retreat for 10 veterans and their spouses.

The retreat was hosted by Nature Corps, an environmental organization led by Mark Landon of Templeton, Calif., who typically leads volunteers on what he calls "volun-tours" to help reforest national parks.

Landon has launched dozens of reforestation tours for corporations, but this time he assumed a mission to replant military marriages affected by multiple deployments. Thankfully, outside contributions paid for the retreat.
As with other Nature Corp events, Friday evening opened with a dinner and brief introductions. Vets come with a natural aversion for the word "retreat," so I deployed a disarming curriculum called "Laugh Your Way to a Better Marriage." The four 90-minute sessions use military-focused videos from Mark Gungor, part pastor and part stand-up comedian.

Gungor began the first video with the facetious warning that "100 percent of divorces start with a marriage." His remark launched nearly nonstop laughter. Gungor's program humorously pushes the limits in all topics, such as communication and sex. The laughter seemed to relax the couples, refuel them, and rekindle their love.
On Saturday morning, we emerged from tents into cooler temperatures and hiked through the forest to plant wild blue rye grass, goldenrod and coneflower. These native plants provide a natural competition for aggressive weeds.

After we readied to plant the last goldenrod, we provided paper and asked the vets to write a growth goal for their marriage. Then, with sacred intention, we dropped those slips one-by-one into the last hole and buried them.
A few hours later, we hit the showers, and returned for lunch and the obligatory talk of every marriage retreat -- sex. The veterans advised me that the discussion details were "highly classified," so I'll just say, "mission accomplished."

On Sunday morning, our last video challenged us to bring forgiveness into our marriages.

On Beetle Rock, overlooking the vast foothills of the Sierra Nevada, I led vets in a ritual Gungor calls the "Reset Button Ceremony," which encourages each spouse to seek forgiveness from the other.

The husbands recited lines that began:

I'm sorry for not always being the kind of husband I should be to you.
For not giving you the attention you deserve.
For being too caught up in my own world instead of "our" world.
For demanding too much and not giving enough.
For not loving you like I should.
Please forgive me.
With your love, your support, your patience and your prayers, I will strive to be the kind of husband God expects me to be.

The wives' part differed by three middle lines:
Honey, I'm sorry for not always appreciating all that you do.
For not always being the lover I know you need.
For not always believing in your hopes and dreams.

As I said, military marriages are different sometimes. But during this closing ceremony, I was privileged to witness the human side of those rock-hard vets as they watered mighty sequoias with their tears.
_____________________________
If you'd like to join a volun-tour, email info@thenaturecorps.org. Contact Chaplain Norris at comment@thechaplain.net or 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715.

 

Attachment:
{Attach File:2}

 

 

New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
correction


Column:

First paragraph of this week's column using wrong from of dual. Graph should read,

As a teenager, I often told my high school ROTC instructors that I aspired for a dual Air Force career, first a flight navigator and then a chaplain.

 

Attachment:
{Attach File:2}

 

 

New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
July 12-14 column


Column:

Navigating the Paths of Certainty

As a teenager, I often told my high school ROTC instructors that I aspired for a duel Air Force career, first a flight navigator and then a chaplain.

"Strange combination" they'd say. "Why is that?"

"Simple. As a navigator I can tell people exactly where they should go. (Pause for effect.) As a chaplain, I can direct them toward a more heavenly heading."

Unfortunately, I thoroughly bombed the Air Force pre-qualifying test for navigator. Fortunately, with a bit of grace, I graduated from seminary and became a chaplain.

Still, I occasionally forget that I failed navigation. Such was the moment last weekend when my wife and I met a family day-hiking into the Hidden Falls Regional Park in Auburn, Calif.

When our paths crossed on the lookout deck above the falls, my attention immediately went to their medium-sized labradoodle, a furball of cuteness they introduced as Chewy.

Poor Chewy was towing an exhausted family of three children, a mom and a grandmother. I noticed the group posing for the obligatory waterfall picture, so I volunteered to snap the photo.

Afterwards I stroked Chewy while the kids took long draws from their water bottles, their mom wondering aloud what route to take back to their car.

Should they return through the tree-lined creek trail or would they elect for the faster return up the sunbaked gravel road?

Without being asked, I advised Chewy's companions that the gravel road would be faster, but I preferred the cooler creek road. They were tired, and this was Chewy's first-ever hike, so they heard "faster."

The woman studied the road. One direction crossed a bridge and the other headed up a steep hill and out of sight.

"Which way toward the parking lot?" she asked.

I pointed up the hill. Becky seconded my motion.

Just before they set off, I made a promise. "If we don't see you in the parking lot, we'll send a search party." They responded from the distance with soft chuckles.

Ten minutes later, we were still at the lookout point when I caught the eye of a passing ranger.

I pointed up the hill, Chewy and company long out of site. "Does that road lead to the parking lot?" I asked him.

"Nope. Not at all. That's a nine-mile hike into back country."

"Ruh-roh. I just sent a family with limited water on an endless hike."

My unsolicited advice was not too unlike the instructions people will sometimes impose on others concerning faith. They preach certitudes proclaiming their road is the only detour around a fiery damnation.

As a chaplain who's definitely not a navigator, I can tell you that pushing people into a particular brand of faith rarely ends well. Even if you see the convert through the baptistry waters, they'll often backslide because it was never really their choice to begin with.

The best approach in sharing your faith is to first wait until someone is truly seeking your advice. Then I'd suggest you help folks explore their options, not dictate your ultimatum. Look for ways to journey with them, seeking the answers together.

This strategy echoes the advice of Teddy Roosevelt who said, "Nobody cares how much you know, until they know how much you care."

When someone seeks your wisdom about faith or any other path, I suggest you consider the attitude conveyed in phrases like…

"May I share my experience?"

"The best advice I ever received was…."

"Can we explore your questions together until we find what you are looking for?"

As a chaplain, I've discovered there is frequently little value in the navigator approach, telling people where to go and how they should get there.

As for Chewy's party of five, the ranger jumped into his pickup and drove up the hill. Ten minutes later the family came clopping back toward us.

"Let's get out of here," my wife said. "I don't want to have to explain my husband."

Without hesitation, I grabbed my daypack and scrambled down the path toward the car.

I know good advice when I hear it.
----------------------------------

Contact Chaplain Norris at comment@thechaplain.net or 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715.

 

Attachment:
{Attach File:2}

 

 

New Column From Norris Burkes

Subject:
Column for July 5-7


Column:

Editors: If you request it, I will provide you the real names and contact information of the aliases in this article.

Our Souls at Night

Are you a lonely widow or widower looking for a solution to your solitude?
If so, check out the 2017 Netflix movie, "Our Souls at night."

The movie features Jane Fonda and Robert Redford as Addie Moore and Louis Waters. They are long-time neighbors who have little to do with each other until they lose their spouses and Addie tries to make a new connection with her neighbor.

The characters remind me of an East Coast couple I met during one of my speaking engagements. Instead of using their real names, I'll call them Sam and Jane, per their request.

Like the movie characters, my friends also enjoyed long and happy marriages full of fun, faith, family, flight (travel) and fitness."

Those things diminished when Sam and Jane saw their spouses become sick. In the months that followed, they kept their promises to remain steadfast in sickness and in health. They sat during long hospital stays followed by exhausting home-caregiver responsibilities.

For Sam and his spouse, the end came slowly and painfully, "ending with incredibly deep sorrow."

Both Jane and Sam went through the inevitable period of grief when they came to realize that "the life experience of marriage and children can never be recovered," laments Sam. "One is now alone with one's children, friends, house and memories."

Neither Sam nor Jane expected to experience that depth of love again. "That being said," Sam told how, "a different kind of love can be found in one's eighties, and Jane and I have found it."

Fortunately, the two of them knew each other through community and church life since 1970. Eventually they saw the need for companionship if they were to avoid the debilitating isolation that often affects the widowed. They share friends, schools and contemporaries. These connections produce "ready-made" relationships.

Jane says they quickly "learned to fill the empty spots in each other's lives. We make good companions in dotage, doing many things together, supporting each other with errands, meals or medical appointments. We share each other's family, attend concerts and travel together."

I've seen their bond blossom during the last few years. They credit their informal four-point relationship criteria and want to share it with you.

First, they've decided they won't marry, but will be monogamous in their mutually beneficial relationship.

Second, they are keeping their own homes. They won't cohabitate, Sam explains with his charming smile. "We are so set in our ways that we cannot tolerate each other 24/7! We both need our quiet times at home alone."

Jane adds the more serious note. "Our houses represent a large part of our identities. They contain our memories, family pictures and other treasures. Moreover, they provide a setting in which to live out our lives."

Their third point leans toward the practical side and promises to maintain separate support systems that include children, long-term-care insurance, medical providers and financial resources.

Wisely, this point assumes they will most likely NOT be each other's final primary caregiver. Sam says, "We've been there, done that, and we won't be able to repeat that exhausting experience in our eighties."

The final point in their agreement is to commit to being each other's "traveling companion." This is where they flourish with flights to the Grand Canyon, San Francisco, San Diego, Hawaii, Cape Cod, Costa Rica and elsewhere.

To which I say, "Go, guys, go."

Sam and Jane tell me that they still feel the loneliness of their losses. Neither of them has put their pictures away and they continue to wear their wedding bands.

But Sam says their new relationship fills in the blanks as far as that is possible. "We are committed companions and friends who share deep losses and enduring memories."

--------------------------------------

Footnote: If you'd like a copy of the criteria used by Sam and Jane, please request it by email. However, if your religious values don't allow for this kind of arrangement, you might consider something called a "spirit wedding," which uses the traditional wedding vows without the use of a marriage certificate.

Contact Chaplain Norris at comment@thechaplain.net or 10566 Combie Rd. Suite 6643 Auburn, CA 95602 or voicemail (843) 608-9715.

 

Attachment:
{Attach File:2}